Pushing
by Anansay
Summary: G/S. A personal musing of yet another setting where Sara and Grissom finally get together.
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: Pushing

AUTHOR: Anansay

RATING: PG-13

SPOILERS: None

~Pushing~

by Anansay

December 19, 2002

No matter how many times he pushed her away, she still seemed to come back for more. Was it a form of masochism on her part? 

The touches, the glances, the little smiles, the brushes. 

Then the walls would go up and the air would be cold and dead. There was nothing there. It was winter. It had come upon her so quickly, she didn't have time to bundle up, to put up her guards in defense of his apathy. He was always to quick for her. He'd had much more time to practice so to speak, and not much reason not to keep them down. 

She on the other hand, whose feelings bubbled just below the surface, felt it very difficult to pull the shades down on her own feelings, her own reactions. They were so much a part who she was, that to deny them was to deny a part of herself and live a partial life, a part of her constantly yelling to be allowed to live and be. 

He kept himself so well hidden, it was amazing that he could even utter coherent words to his fellow human inhabitants. He walked with deliberate shuffle, a non-descript sort of shamble of feet propelling body forward to its destination. His head forever lost in a sea of papers perpetually in his hands. His body language spoke of a ghostly being inhabiting the halls of their work place. He had never really changed from his younger days, apparently, when he mentioned being like a ghost in high school. His life was immersed in the non-communicative aspects of research and study. He chose to spend his time with beings whose communication was solely for the purpose of the survival of self or species. He seemed to have adapted an apathetic way of associating with the world, communicating only as much as was needed to acquire the necessary survival tools, such as a paycheck, in this society. It was a pity, really, to watch this man go about his living, giving only as much as was needed, asking for nothing, expecting nothing. 

She watched him, from a distance. Forever hoping that one day… He might feel safe enough, or strong enough, to reach out and touch her, for real. Not in a sense of a mistake, like a brush. But in an obvious, matter of fact, deliberate attempt to create a bond with another human being. 

So she waited. 

And waited. 

For three long years. 

And then some. 

The longer she waited, the more he seemed to retreat into himself. She watched from a distance, as he seemed to fade from sight, leaving behind only a dim reflection in her memory of what he used to be. 

He spoke so little now, except to direct his team in accomplishing their common goal of deciphering their latest mystery. Beyond that, no words escaped his body. His office had become his refuge away from the world, that is, until he could get to his real sanctuary: his home. Where the doors could be locked, lights turned on dim, phone disconnected, and the outside world shut out like an alcatraz in his mind. 

She only knew him as he was before. Before Las Vegas. When he was alive. When he laughed. When jokes were told, and played. When he didn't flinch at a touch initiated by another. When a touch was merely a touch, unless it meant something else. When he was able to distinguish between the two. When a hug was a hug and not a prelude to sex. When a kiss on the cheek, or even on the lips, was merely a intimate gesture between two friends with a very wide comfort range when in each other's company. Their familiarity and comfort with each other was a welcome digression from the stoic, austere attitude of society around them. Within their sphere of existence, there was freedom. To be. To live. To laugh. To cry. Without prejudice. 

Now she walked alone in this world. He was there, beside her. But he was looking away, lost in his own private little realm. A place to which she was not allowed. It seemed a part of her soul had gone with him when he left for Vegas so many years ago. She thought she could recover it by joining him later and working with him. But she soon found that he intended to keep it to himself alone, this part of her soul. 

Maybe that's why she stayed. She needed to have a soul in one piece, and being with him, even apart, meant a more wholeness for her, than anything else could offer. 

And so she stayed, and watched him fade away. Sometimes he didn't even hear her approaching or talking to him. He just continued along his way, nose stuck in whatever case was open. She would have to touch his arm to get his attention, and then he would jump as though her hand were a smith's hot iron. It scared her, when he did that. He was getting too lost in his world. She longed to reach in and pull him out. But like a butterfly, when helped out of their cocoon, the squeezing of the body is skirted and the blood never gets to the wings. The butterfly dies with limp, wet, pieces of skin at their sides, unable to fly to feed or escape. He needed to find his own way out, so that he may live. 

He would turn to look at her with a haunted, scared expression on his face. But only for a moment, before the walls shot up and his face regained it's normal detached expression. She would plow forth, extolling her latest findings, hoping to elicit something more than a grunt and further orders on which path to follow, as though her great mind could not have figured that one out for itself. It was a quasi-insult in her mind, how he couldn't see how his actions, his words, affected her and those around him. 

He was quickly becoming the silent leader who sat upon his throne, dictating to his subordinates their next actions. He was becoming distant and aloof, unreachable. She no longer felt welcome or comfortable approaching him, for any reason. She kept to the lab, the breakroom, the latest crime scene. Anywhere, not to have to see him and deal with him. 

His slow death was dragging that part of her soul down with him. For her own sake, she needed him alive and well and an eager part of their community. So she tried again. Like the child, believing in their parents, she tried again to reach him, the scars on her soul still not healed from the last times he'd pushed her away, singeing her with his abruptness. Still she ventured forth, into the abyss known as Grissom to try and goad him out. Again. She took a deep breath and steeled herself against the inevitable onslaught. 

A knock on his office yielded no response. So she walked in, heedless of his sense of privacy. He had invaded hers too many times to count. She found him sitting at his desk, an apple in one hand, a pen in the other, a puzzle held between the two. His gaze focused intently on some clue, his mind working fervently through the mass of disjointed bits of information floating around his cranium, and wont to emerging sporadically, giving those around him a peek into his world. 

For all intents and purposes, it appeared as though he were choosing to ignore at this particular time. The quite audible closing of the door ought to have alerted him to her presence. Yet, he did not move. Did not show any signs that he was aware of her presence. 

She watched as he worked this latest puzzle, putting down his apple every few minutes as another clue made itself known to him, and the pen jotting down the letters. He would smile to himself, pleased at his latest discovery, moot though it were in this environment. 

She moved slightly in the door, blocking the light coming in from the window and causing the shadow to fall on his desk, darkening his work space. He glanced up, and quickly jumped back in his chair, his apple flying out of his hand, pen going the other way, and paper going upwards. She retrieved the apple and pen from their places on the floor and quietly handed them to him, meeting his eyes. 

Shock. Surprise. Fear. His eyes, for a split moment, were wide open for her perusal, before the shutters slammed shut. Again. She dropped herself into the guest's chair and stared at him, unblinking, expressionless. Watching him overtly now. It took his mind awhile to wrap itself around this latest development in her out of character behavior. He watched her in return, waiting for her to speak. She did not volunteer to go first. So he spoke. 

"Sara, is there something I can do for you?" His voice emerged as a cheap imitation of his former smooth, velvety textured timbre. It was dead. 

"Yes, there is.", she started. "You can give me back my soul."

Grissom stared at her as though she had just spoken some ancient latin dialect. His brow furrowed and his mouth pursed. For sure, he must have thought her finally over the edge. This job, by its description, demanded a lot from its workers. Perhaps she had given everything she had, and was now running on empty. But one look at her firm expression threw that idea right out the window. 

"Excuse me?", he volunteered. 

Sara took a deep breath and decided to plunge forward, regardless of the consequences she knew would be forthcoming. Even though her choice of words were cryptic, she decided to speak from what soul she had left. She was its voice, her voice, from ancient times demanding resolution. 

"You have part of my soul. In Frisco, you left with part of it. Remember Frisco, Grissom? We had fun there. You were alive there.", she paused. "Now you're dead. You jump whenever someone talks to you. You bury yourself in your books, papers, cases and bugs. You're dying. So before you die, I want my soul back. Let me live in peace, and I'll let you die in peace."

Grissom stared at her, trying to comprehend what her obscure words meant. Her soul? He removed his glasses, staring at them while he twirled them around in his hands. His glasses offered a safe route to let his thinking run free. His hands were busy, his eyes were busy, people usually left him alone when he did this. He replaced the glasses and turned to her, eyes beginning to blaze. 

"What the devil are you talking about, Sara?", he asked abruptly, not trying to hide his frustration. 

"Riddles, Grissom. Or don't you recognize your own evasion practice when it's used on you."

Grissom shook his head, pleading with eyes that Sara would just speak her mind and get it over with. 

"Grissom. I know you. Or, I thought I knew. I thought we were friends. Now, I don't know. You're pulling away from me. I don't know what to do. All I know is, when you left Frisco to come here, you took a piece of me with you, and now that I'm here, you still have it. I can't leave if you still have it. And if you're not going to use it, I'd like it back, please." 

"Leave?"

Sara's face scrunched up as she struggled with what she wanted to say next. The words fought to stay inside, stay hidden. But she needed to say it. "I need my life. And it's not here with you. I'm not going to sit by and watch you cave in on yourself. You either open up, or give me back what's mine. Quit toying with me. As soon as I get close, you clam up. You know what that's called out there", she motioned with her arm outside his office, more broadly, the outside world. "it's called teasing. You're teasing me, Gil and I hate it. I'm living on a roller coaster, and I hate it. Some days are really good, and some are really bad. I hate that. I want to leave. But I need to know that I have my soul, that you are truly done with me and you're not gonna tease me anymore. Do something, or do nothing. No more of this in between shit!"

At Grissom's look of utter confusion, or was that a shield to hide his understanding, Sara felt her insides quiver in anxiety as the next words flew from her lips. "Don't you get it?! We had something in Frisco! I KNOW we did! I come here, get a few flirtatious looks and remarks and then whammo! You clam up! Do something! Or get out of my way!" She sprung up then, and started pacing the room, fighting the urge to grab the door and run. She had run away too many times. She would only leave with what was rightfully hers. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, her breath wheezing from her flared nostrils, eyes bright and flashing. 

He watched her pace, his heart a flurry of activity in his chest, the sound pounding in his ears. He was beginning to see the picture she tried so desperately to paint, without actually coming out and saying it. She needed to know. To know what those comments, those looks, those brushes and touches, what they all meant. He thought he could continue the game forever. He never thought about the emotional consequences for her. He had been used to keeping himself behind shades, but she felt everything so acutely, especially her feelings for him. He knew of what she spoke in Frisco. That was why he had left. But he couldn't stay away from her for long. So at the first hint, he had called her to him. And she had come. On a moment's notice. She had dropped her life in Frisco and had come back to him, no questions asked. He had never considered the implications of such a combination of moves. Now she was here, demanding an explanation. Or she was gone. Just like that. Just like him. The student becoming the teacher. Oh god… What had he done? Inadvertently passed on what he knew would destroy her. And he thought he was protecting her… Oh god… 

His glasses came off again, being twirled in his hands as his eyes closed. He felt the rush of emotions rise to the surface at this painful revelation. His instinct was to push them down. Again. Another voice popped up and quietly suggested that perhaps feeling them wasn't such a bad idea. He considered it. And during this brief consideration, the feelings took his reigns and brought him on a ride. He saw the last three years through a brief moment in time. _Since I met you. _Little break throughs, little teasers. _I have you. I need you. I want you. _Why? These words seemed to slip by his defenses before he could restrain them. They needed to be let out. 

Do something, she had asked. No, she had demanded. Do what? Say what? Words would be meaningless at this juncture. Actions speak louder than words. He needed to show her. Fear gripped his body, nailing him to his chair. 

She turned around then, glaring at him. He felt her eyes hot on his head. He couldn't meet her eyes. Not yet. Time was not a luxury he had, the voice quietly whispered. The imprinting was becoming permanent in her. He needed to stop it. Maybe let her go. Let her find someone who could give her what she needed. That thought was like a bucket of ice water on his soul: frigid, glacial pain. The coldness closed in on him. Alone. Utterly alone. Forever. No one was like Sara. No one knew him like Sara. No one accepted him like Sara. No one kept at him like Sara. No one was like Sara. She was unique in every way. And she was here, demanding reciprocal action. 

He stood up then, and turned the face her. Her hands were crossed in front her as she leaned back, adopting a pose of strength and determination. He recognized that pose, when she felt very strongly about something and would not back down. Her eyes flashed at him, daring him to do what she felt he could not do. Her eyebrow was raised, a further determinant of her meaning. 

"Sara…", it was so easy to say the name. The words did not follow. Only silence, long and drawn out. Pained silence as she waited, her foot tapping the floor. Her jaw clenched, the nerve jumping on the side. She took one last deep straggling breath before turning on her heels and heading for the door. She grabbed the door handle and turned to him, eyes glimmering. 

"I have my answer, Grissom. Thank you." It was the coldest words she could ever have uttered his way. The ice worked its way around his heart, chilling it. Pieces began chipping away, flake by tiny flake. 

And then she was gone. His office door left open, a testament to her quiet departure. The air in his office was tight around him, choking him. The emptiness pulled at him, rending his soul. He couldn't breathe, his chest was tight, his throat was constricting. The office was closing in around him, pushing him down, further and further into his own abysmal damnation. He had to get out of there, had to leave. Fresh air, light, open spaces. He took off out of office nearly running down the hall, feeling the everything closing in on him. The voices were far away. The hallway seemed to go on without end. It took him forever to reach the doors, and he flung them open with such force, they hit the wall beside them with a deafening crack. He flinched but kept on going, into the middle of the parking lot. He was running now. His legs wouldn't stop. He needed to get away. The pain was following him, catching up with him. His legs pumped harder and harder. Then the screech came. 

He turned his head just in time to see the big black hunk of metal bearing down on him at full speed, the deafening honking stealing his reflexes from him a moment. Then he heard the screech of metal as the brakes were applied, and he watched in horror as the vehicle began twisting in its bid to stop in time. He didn't move. He didn't feel like getting out of the way. 

The vehicle did stop, before hitting him. He did not move, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He stood stock still, looking at the vehicle that had almost sent him to meet his maker. He didn't notice the driver until she got out of the car and came up to him and punched him in the chest. Sara. 

"What the HELL are you doing?", she demanded. "Are you nuts?!" She spun away from his, her hand running through her hair roughly. She turned on him again, nostrils flared, glaring at him. He could see her mouth moving, but no sound was coming out. For a moment he thought his hearing had gone out, but then he realized that she wasn't speaking, just trying to find the right words. She clamped her mouth, and simply glared at him. 

She saw the fear in his eyes. And the pain. And the confusion. And the loneliness. She saw it all. Right here in the middle of the parking lot. After almost hitting him. Her heart couldn't beat any more faster. She wanted to hit him, to beat him, to scream at him, to call him every name she knew. She wanted to hurt him, just like he had hurt her, in there, and now out here. Her body shook with the effort required to keep the controls on. He looked so lost, she realized suddenly. He wasn't doing anything, or saying anything. He was just looking at her, begging. With who? Her? Himself? 

He looked away, his eyes still moving. His mind tried to grab hold of thoughts, tried to make a coherent pattern emerge. He was getting lost, lost in the feelings of the moment. Lost in his own sense of mortality, in his love for Sara, in his fear of being known, of being rejected. 

"I'm sorry, Sara. I wasn't looking…", he said hesitantly, his voice shaking. 

"You weren't _looking_?! Where the hell were you going in such a rush?!"

"I – I don't know." The words had come out before he could stop them. His eyes were still avoiding hers. 

She looked at him hard. His body language bespoke a man in the midst of some emotional conflict. His slumped shoulders, avoiding gaze, hands clasped loosely in front of him, wanting to shield, yet too weak for any real attempt. His breathing was still fast and shallow. If he didn't slow down soon, he would pass out from lack of oxygen. She saw the pulsing in his neck, fast and furious; his blood pressure rising in times of stress. She felt drawn to him, in this state. Her hand extended toward him in an unconscious gesture of support and comfort. He jerked away slightly, a fear response. She dropped her hand. 

"Gil… " She bent down to look into his eyes. He moved his head away. "Hey! Look at me!" She demanded softly. 

His head moved from side to side, as though looking for some answer on the ground. Finally he brought his head up and looked into her eyes. She was taken aback by what greeted her. Torment. He was afraid. 

As though her awareness had taken flight from her body and hovered slightly above them, she saw their situation from a new perspective. His body language was of a man leaning toward a woman, leaning into a woman, trying to get near her. As close as possible without drawing attention to that fact. She saw, as she felt, the energy surrounding them, that of two people caught in a whirlwind of unspoken feelings. These surrounding them and tainting their view of the world. They needed to be dealt with and placed into their proper place. In this way the haunting, disturbing aura could be dispelled and they could go on with their lives, instead of being caught in this microcosm of their own creation. 

Like someone caught in a nightmare, thrashing about, sometimes it took drastic measures to bring them back to reality. A slap in the face so to speak. Sara saw this in Grissom, standing there in the parking lot, unmoving, unseeing, yet feeling everything so acutely. He was caught in his own terror of self-inflicted isolation. 

All at once, a switch seemed to flip inside her, a sudden radical change in thought, in belief, in feeling, in intention, in her entire being. She needed him. He needed her. She was overwhelmed with urgency to reach him now, here, like this. 

She reached in and placed her lips on his, pushing against him, flattening their lips against each other's. She felt him back away, pull away, resist. But she brought her hand up to the back of his head and held him to her, while she devoured his mouth with hers. Her body came next, pressing itself against his, bringing him into her circle, enveloping him with her aura, pushing against his defenses, crumbling them at his feet. She felt him shake as his will battled. Her other hand went around his waist, holding him there. She felt his hands tentatively on her arms, debating whether to push her way or grab her. His fingers cautiously touched her, staying just far enough away to keep it safe. 

He allowed the kiss to linger as is, his fingers just barely touching her, yet his body pressed tightly against hers as she held him there. He held it there for a moment before the his final vestiges of defenses fell away and he plunged into his passion fully and wholly, his arms wrapping themselves around her, accepting her and given himself to her completely. His mouth opened to hers and their tongues met and mingled, sending sparks of electricity through their bodies, igniting and fanning the flame of their desire. 

It welled up in him, the misery of fighting to keep everything in. The years spent in fear of opening up, of being rejected, of being hurt. It unfurled inside him, radiating outward; his body tensed with the intensity. He held her to him in a desperation born out of this act of final release. 

He had been drowning, his world caving in on him, pulling and pushing him down, choking the life out of him. And now a hand was offered. A hand that promised safety and freedom, understanding and comfort. No demands, no expectations. He grabbed hold of that hand, wrapping himself around it, holding it close to his heart, never wanting to let go. 

His muscles tensed as he held her to him, deepening the kiss, bodies pressed against each other, as though endeavoring to mesh their individual spirits into one. His throat constricted as he fought to keep from crumbling in her arms. She moved against him, sending shards of desire through him. He groaned into her mouth, the sound becoming a shaky whimper. His eyes began to sting and he crushed his lips against hers one last time before breaking away and burying his head in her neck, holding onto her as though for dear life. 

His hands clenched her jacket at her back as his body began to shake. She felt a wetness on her skin as his tears spilled over. She sighed in his arms, holding him ever tighter, her hands running along his back, comforting him. She took his release and accepted it, welcomed it as a necessary step to his becoming a whole person once again. 

He pulled away from her after a while, head down, eyes averted, hands reaching up to wipe at his face, first with skin and then with the sleeve of his shirt. Such an innocent gesture, she thought, a simple wiping of tears on his shirt, like a child might. His arms fell to his side then. He stood there, waiting, for something. Sensing he was unused to initiating anything with regards to his true feelings, she began again. 

"We need to talk, Gil.", she stated quietly. 

His head bobbed slightly. 

"Come back to my place." Like a teacher directing her student in the art of living, she took his hand and drew him to her car, opening the door for him. He got in and settled himself. 

She got in on the other side and started the engine. She turned to look at him. He was sitting, hands in lap, face downward. He was lost in his own feelings, trying to make sense of them, trying to understand them, trying to incorporate them into his sense of being. 

She reached out and placed her hand on his, squeezing in reassurance. He raised his head and caught her eye. His face was drawn, pale and white. His eyes, shutters gone now, told a story of walls, barriers, defenses and pretensions. Of lies told to cover the more painful truths hidden behind those walls. Of days spent hiding and of nights spent dreaming, feeling, wanting, needing and being alone. Of nights spent doubled over in agony as the pain of his walls crushed him in their desire to quell any sentiment whatsoever. 

She saw all this and her heart reached out to him, caressing him, drawing him to her. His eyes, red rimmed, bore into her soul, reaching, questing for that tendril of humanity she offered him. Her hand reached up and cupped his face, letting him know it was okay, okay to feel. She felt the muscles begin to quiver beneath her touch, saw his eyes well up again, before he looked down to hide his tears. She let go, allowing him his modicum of privacy in the cramped personal space of her car. 

She pulled out of the parking lot and headed to her place, bringing him with her. As she drove and here eyes scanned around, the world seemed to have been painted over with brighter colors. The air felt cleaner, the sky was bluer, more people had smiles on their faces. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes a moment, basking in the gently rolling waves of contentment washing over her. 

Things were going to be alright, she thought. Her soul was whole again. There were no more gaps, no more gaping holes or raw edges. He was with her, he had let her in, completely. 

She looked down when she felt his hand on her thigh. He was gently touching her, connecting with her. She looked over in his eyes. He was smiling, a tiny smile that pulled on the corners of lips. His eyes were shining as well, with gratitude this time. 

No words were said. No words existed to qualify their experience. No words could encompass all that there was between them. 

They were going to be okay. 


	2. At Sara's House

CHAPTER 2

"What happened to you?"

It was a question that had materialized in her head too many times to count. In the three years she had known him as his coworker and employee, he had changed, as though from day to night. Whereas before he smiled and laughed, now he was quiet and reticent. His eyes sagged, his mouth pursed, his walk a slow, hunching scuffle. The light that had formerly lit his eyes and animated his actions, now seemed like a dull shadow of its former glory. He no longer jumped at an opportunity to solve a mystery, but trudged to the crime scene with little enthusiasm. His actions were automatic now, his subconscious having taken over as his mind wandered to far off places. 

She would find him at his desk, eyes blankly staring forward, piles of papers on his desk, awaiting his attention. She knew of his dislike of paperwork, preferring the actual work of study and deciphering. But she had never seen him so lost, so disinterested in even the menial aspects of his job. 

A ghost, he had once said, of his time in high school. Passing in the hallways, unseen, unheard, yet seeing and hearing everything. It was his observant nature to stand back and observe unobtrusively. 

When she had met him, he was no ghost, but a flesh and bone man of science, extolling his love and fascination with the world of insects, and investigation. His eyes had shone bright blue, even from across the room, his hands forever in the air, emphasizing his latest point. His presentation was an entire body performance. His enthusiasm for his work radiated from every pore of his being, attracting Sara like a moth to light. She was powerless to stop herself. She had become his student, learning from him whenever she got the chance, though the classroom was not a regular classroom, their talks happening late into the night in some diner, or the library, or on a walk. She picked his brain relentlessly, gathering as much information as she could. And he the willing teacher, having found in her a student with a zest that matched his own. It was a match made in heaven, so to speak. 

In time, she realized, her interest in him had extended beyond the intellectual, to encompass the physical and emotional. When he spoke, she would watch how his eyes would sparkle and his hands dance in the air as they made imaginary pictures of his words. His hands were strong and sturdy, dark and callused from time spent outside collecting his bugs. She loved to watch him write, to see how he formed his letters. 

The walks with him were probably the most magical of all, when he would stop suddenly and bend over, giving her an original opportunity to view his theories and knowledge up close, personal and in real life. She would sit by him and listen to him speak, the cadence of his voice as it lowered subconsciously as he spoke of the little creatures scurrying about on the ground. His hands would wave in front of him, tracing invisible paths that the bugs would inevitably follow. 

When at last he would stand up and look at her, she would become lost in the dazzling blue of his eyes as they sparkled in true entomological interest, his lips twisting up into a glorious smile. He was a like a child with a treasured toy, totally in his glory. 

Something had stolen the life from him. Somewhere along the way, it had begun to dim imperceptibly until it was at it is now, almost gone. He was but a figment of his former glorious self. Somewhere along the line, life and the act of living had taken on tones of monotony and drudgery. Maybe the others couldn't see it, but she could. How could she talk to the others without revealing herself to them when it came to Grissom? They would see right through her, and she was not ready for that. 

Perhaps it was when he had found the baby dead in the garden. It wasn't everybody who had found him, it was Grissom. He had held the baby so gently in his arms, staring at it, uncomprehendingly. He had walked with it to the cars, never letting anyone else touch it. This had been a human being, who had never hurt another in his short life and yet he had been murdered. The case, from then on, had become personal for him. He had let it get to him, become his drive. Maybe it was after that case that the life force had ebbed from him in slow methodical waves of desolation. Maybe… 

"What happened to you?"

Grissom's head snapped up and his eyes trained on hers. 

She felt her eyes on him and realized she had spoken the words aloud. She turned to look at him, almost fearful of his response. His eyes were wide and confused. 

"What did you say?"

"Uh… I was just thinking… out loud I guess…" she dropped her eyes from his. 

"You asked me what happened to me."

She sighed. "I was only thinking, Gil. I'm sorry. I don't want to pry."

He looked away from her then. There was a lead weight in her stomach, and a heaviness in her soul. Grissom's privacy was of utmost importance to him, she understood this. Her musings of him had been personal for her. And now he knew. Knew her thoughts, or the gist of them. The tension in the air was choking her. She decided that her glass needed refilling. Now. 

In the kitchen, her hands were on the counter, her head hung low. She cursed herself for her stupidity in uttering those words aloud. She wanted Grissom to trust her. And now he wouldn't. She bit her bottom lip, hard enough to cause pain. She didn't hear the sounds of his feet over her solitary attack. Suddenly his hand was on her shoulder and she jumped and yelped. Her hand knocked over her glass causing water to slop onto the floor. 

"Damn!" she uttered and reached for a tea towel in the drawer and bent down to sop up the water. He bent down beside her and placed a hand on hers, steadying her. She stopped dead, afraid to look at him. 

"Sara.. it's okay. I understand." He took the cloth from her hand and continued to wipe up the mess, wringing the cloth out in the sink and hanging it to dry on one of her cupboard doors. It wasn't what she would have done, but she didn't want to ruin the moment. 

She stood in the kitchen, her body facing his, her eyes looking elsewhere. His hand came under her chin and brought her face up to his. He peered into her eyes, before a small smile graced his face. "It's okay, Sara. I'm not upset." He eyes gazed at her face, trying to make her understand his truthfulness. 

"It's just that… I don't want to push you, Gil. What happened in the parking lot, well… it wasn't really my intention to attack you like that." Her face flushed slightly at the memory and she looked away again. 

His eyes were still on her face, but he was quiet. She could practically hear his mind working. She needed to sit down; she maneuvered her way around him and back to the couch, where she curled herself up in the corner. 

He spoke to her from the kitchen doorway. "I know what you were talking about in my office Sara." His quiet voice drifted over to her ears. 

She felt it wash over her like a warm blanket, cradling her in its warmth. She sighed, her eyes closing involuntarily. 

"I've made some pretty stupid mistake in my life, god only knows." he continued. "The one that I regret the most was leaving Frisco. Leaving you. I know we had something, Sara. And it was more than a teacher/student thing." He came over and sat down beside her. Not too close and yet not too far. Enough that he could touch her if he so chose. "You were my most eager student. And I have to admit at first, I was rather exhilarated with the idea of such a zealot for a student. I know what I left with, when I came here. I know what it is you gave me. And I took it selfishly and gave you nothing in return. I'm sorry Sara."

She sat and watched him, listening to his words, and feeling them sink into her soul, healing it. The edges stopped screaming. Scars formed, forever etched into her soul, a reminder of how much she had given him. 

"You're not the same person, Gil."

"People change Sara."

"Not like this. You used to enjoy your work. I used to see fire in your eyes. Now I see nothing." She looked up at him, now. Her eyes demanding the answers to the question she refused to ask. 

He sighed and looked away. 

"That's what my question meant. What happened to kill that fire, Gil? What happened to take you away from me?"

He got up and walked over to the window, his shoulders tense, his back slumped, arms crossed in front of his chest. No more standing tall and proud. He seemed to have a weight on his shoulders that he couldn't shake off. It was burying him. She wanted to go to him, to put her hands on his back, to ease away the tension. To bring him back. To her. But she stayed where she was, watching and waiting. 

"Life." came the small answer. 

"What?"

He sighed and his head lowered. He said nothing for a moment and then turned to her. "Life, Sara. I'm old. I'm almost fifty. That's old. I'm not the same man you knew before. I don't think I'll ever be. I can't go back and undo what I did. It doesn't work that way. I can't go back to Frisco and be with you." 

His eyes had taken on a haunted, faraway look. They spoke of great regrets. Of resignation. She hated that last one. He was giving up. 

She stood up, facing him square on. "You're not old, Gil. Not to me. I can still see that child in you. It's in there, somewhere, hiding. Waiting to be invited back out again. I can see it when you're with your bugs. Don't deny who you are. You will always be that child who loves to play with bugs."

"They're just bugs, Sara. They can't love me back."

Her heart nearly stopped at that last remark. Love. If only he knew, she thought. 

"Gil… You are loved. By everyone at work. They look up to you. –"

"It's not the same thing, Sara."

" - _I _love you, Gil."

His eyes stopped blinking. His chest stopped moving as his breath became caught in his throat. His arms fell to his sides. He stood there, gaping at her. 

"I love you, Gil." she repeated. "I always have." She moved around the coffee table to stand, unimpeded, before him. 

He looked at her, with longing in his eyes. His soul reached out to her, grasping. "I don't want you to leave, Sara. I couldn't be here without you. I'm trying, I just don't know how to do it." His voice had dropped to barely a whisper, as he fought to get the words out. 

She went to him, then. Standing before him, she felt his fear like tendrils reaching out to her, seeking solace. She took his hands, feeling them shake in hers. She took his eyes with hers, seeing the fear in them. "Relationships are usually made up of two people, Gil. You won't be alone." 

She saw him swallow stiffly. No matter how difficult the journey, she could see him struggling forward until he made it. She only hoped he could see that too. 


	3. Shared souls

Pushing

CHAPTER 3

At Sara's house

There were fantasies and there were dreams. 

Fantasies are born, live and die in the psyche. Their world is a constantly shifting panorama of a person's mind. Rules exist only to be broken. Anything could happen, and usually did. 

Dreams, on the other hand, are born on the outside but live in the mind, for a while. But these have the power to leave the mind and become existent in reality. These would usually stay with the person until either their death, or their viability in the person's growth. 

For Sara, having Grissom in her house had started out as a fantasy, forever the tenant of her mind. Somewhere along the way, it had transformed into reality without passing through the dream stage. 

"Sara I'm a scientist I understand facts, things I can put my finger on, tangible things. I've never been good with people. You know that. I'm not going to be good in this."

Sara looked at him. He was looking straight ahead, into a different world. "You're not in this alone, Gil. As much as it has to do with feelings, it also has to do with trust."

"I don't understand people relationships. I always mess them up. I always _hurt them. _I don't know how _not _to. So I stay away. It's safer that way."

Sara regarded the man before her with a mixture of love and frustration and pity. There was love in her heart: love for a man who had followed his dream no matter the cost and in that way was living wholly, unimpeded. Frustration because _she _could see it so plainly whereas he was still in the fog and it seemed to her that he _chose _to stay in the fog. Pity because in so many ways he seemed like a child peering at the world through the keyhole of a room and seeing things and not understanding them and then being afraid to venture out and discover them. Investigating bugs was so much simpler than investigating human relationships. 

Taking a deep breath, she decided on another tactic. "Grissom, how did you learn how to walk?"

"What?" he said, turning to face her with a puzzled expression on his face. 

"Seriously. How did you learn how to walk?"

"Uh I just did."

"No. Think about it for a moment. As a baby, you would lie on the floor, or the playpen or whatever and everyone walked around you. Then you were crawled – cause you _really _wanted that toy over there. And then sometime later, you managed balance on two feet and then you managed balance on one foot while your brought the other one forward. After a while, you were taking steps. You wanted to walk like everyone else, so you practiced. You fell, you got hurt, but you got and did it again and again, until you were walking. And then you were running, hopping, skipping and jumping. And now it's as easy as breathing: you just _do it. _The point is: you wanted it so you tried and you got it. It's the same thing with relationships: you want it, you try it, you get hurt, hell you might even stub someone's toes, or walk into them, or fall on them, but after a while, you learn that delicate balance and then your practicing walking on beams as though you were a tightrope walker. 

After a while, you learn the ins and outs of relationships. You're gonna hurt me, Grissom. It's a given. And I'm gonna hurt you, it's all in the game of being with people. _But, _because of what we share, we apologize, kiss the bo-bos, and mend the wounds and then try again. Until we get it." 

He stared at her trying to decipher an actual meaning to her words. She was speaking in riddle, or so it seemed. Now, why did that make him feel just the tiny bit odd? She said he would hurt her. She had no idea. He could remember numerous times of women walking out on him, many times with a huff and puff and a _look _as though he'd dropped out of some gothic inquisition type drama, what with all the bugs tacked on a board behind glass. He had handled it then, though he couldn't really decide if the pain he felt was for himself at being left alone once again, or for the women who'd fallen for him only to find out who he really was and then been too icked out to stay and watch the drama unfold into the wholesome creature that Grissom was. But Sara had never looked at him that. Sure, she didn't love bugs as much as he did, but she'd followed him through swamps to decomposing bodies, examined bugs up close with him to find the evidence and sat and discussed the basic elements of human deterioration with him like it was some Saturday night movie drama: totally absorbing. He was, in actuality, in awe of this woman. So then, why was he hesitating. Because there was something else, something that hadn't been present during the other women. Something that made him less than a man, and therefore not good enough for Sara. With a heavy sigh, he met her gaze. 

"Alright, here's the first pain." She needed to know this. "I'm going deaf, Sara."

Deaf.

The word hit her with the force of a punch to her chest, robbing her of the strength to draw in air. _Deaf. _He was going deaf. She scrunched up her eyebrows in thought. No more hearing. No more listening. He wouldn't be able to hear her she wouldn't' be able to talk to him, whisper to him during yell at him in anger. _Deaf. _And then just as it stopped, her breath came out of her body with a whoosh and her mind started up again, full throttle as it always did when something like this happened. She was not one to remain in limbo for long. 

"How?"

"Genetics. Otosclerosis."

Her shrewd mind began putting the pieces together. "The sigh language"

"Yes" he said and smiled, a small one but there nevertheless. "My mother was deaf."

"Your mother" more pieces. "You got it from her?"

"Yes."

More clicks and chinks as the gears in her mind revved. "How far along is it?"

"I'm gonna need surgery. But it's not a guarantee."

Sara sat back into her couch and stared straight ahead as her mind digested this new and shocking revelation. So he was going deaf, he wasn't _dying _for crying out loud! And there was still surgery; there was still a chance. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly , she turned to him. "Anything else?" 

And then it was Grissom's turn to stare at her. Didn't she think this was something bigger? "Uh, no. I don't think so. That was probably the biggest one." 

"So there are smaller ones?"

"Well I'm sure they'll come out in time I can't think of everything in one night, Sara!" 

"Well it's a start." And she leaned toward him, bringing her face close to his. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I know how hard it is for you to share yourself."

He looked down, ill at ease with the sudden openness of the situation. A butterfly doesn't emerge from her cocoon in one fell swoop, and neither could he. It would take time. 

~*~

You know, we were close one time. Don't you remember the long talks deep into the night? Nights when I'd crash at your place, or you at mine cause it was too late to go anywhere or we were just too drunk to go anywhere? Do you remember that? I do. I miss them. They were there and they were fun and then suddenly, they stopped. Just petered out. Within a few weeks they were gone. And then you were gone. To Vegas. Just like that. And then that's when it really stopped. 

And then you called. You needed an objective perspective in a case. So you called me. And I came. And then I stay. Why? Because you asked me to. Because I thought that whatever had happened in Frisco might have been only a stage and that maybe you'd come back. Maybe we might not have 2am conversations again, too drunk to speak properly, let alone find our way home. But no, nothing happened. You were a stone when you left and you were a stone when I came here. And unlike erosion, you seem to be regressing in time, becoming thicker! 

The thoughts poured through her head as she watched him in her kitchen getting some water from her fridge. 

Well, for three years I've stood back and watched you and waited until you were ready. I sat and waited, half a soul and half a person. I didn't think you'd ever come around. And now you're here, but you're not. And I'm confused. 

He looked up at her from behind her half wall and caught her eye. Her heart lurched in her chest at the rawness so evident in his eyes. He stared at her, the glass forgotten in his hand. 

"Remember before?" she said. 

"Before when?"

"In Frisco?"

His eyes closed just a bit, not actually but the walls started building again. She could see him beginning to close himself off to her, again. A sudden surge of anger welled in her at his audacity. _After all this?! And he has to go back to his walls again?? _"I remember Frisco, Sara. Why?"

Well, at least he's not shutting the topic down. "We were close, weren't we? I mean, all that time we spend together?"

He looked down at the glass in his hand and then downed the rest of the water. Then he rinsed the cup – it was only water! – before coming around to lean against the wall-post. "We were close, why?"

He was going to make this difficult. "What happened?"

"What?"

"What happened that we're here now like this and not like we were headed?"

His eyes closed, he took a deep breath and his head went down to rest on his chest. "So many things" she heard him say quietly. She strode up and sat on a stool by the half-wall. 

"What things?" she asked him, just as quietly. 

His head rose and the eyes that greeted her were filled with such pain as she'd never seen in his eyes before. It tore at her heart and the urge to go to him, press her palm to his face and try to erase the pain was so strong. But she stayed where she was and let him feel it, maybe in that way he could share some of it with her. "It was too fast."

She thought about that for a moment. _Yeah, it was really fast. _Within a few weeks the all-nighters at each other's house had begun. Spending days together, day after day, after waking up together again. But no sex. No, they had actually managed to skirt around that issue without even so much as a kiss. Sometimes the hangovers were so bad, they decided to stay in and watch the Discovery Channel until their eyes begged for release from the constant flickering lights. Then they would discuss what they'd just watched. 

During the week, they would meet for lunch at the university cafeteria and sometimes even miss their class: the one she was taking and the one he was teaching. Yeah, it was fast. But they had both seemed to click so well together, she had assumed Ahh, and what is it that one gets when one assumes? An _ass _out of _u _and _me. _Perhaps she had really assumed erroneously "Yes, it was fast. I'll admit to that."

"I got scared. And then I got the job offer, and"

"You moved." 

"Yeah."

He joined her on the other stool, propping his feet on the crossbar, one elbow on the half-wall. She turned to face him. His head rested in his hand as he stared off at a distant point, his eyes growing distant. 

"I miss those nights, you know." He finally said. "I'd think about them a lot. And sometimes I'd find my hand on the telephone, your number in my head." She could only stare at him in silent shock. "I missed you so much, I actually did call you, but only because there was a case that needed your attention." He shut his eyes, as though in pain. "No, actually, _I _needed you. I needed you back in my life again." He opened them and stared right at her. "So I got you to come to me in Vegas, then I got you to stay here all for me. And then" he looked away again, blinking heavily, his breath coming in quiet shutters. "I kept you at a distance. I wanted you near me, but not so much that I would lose myself again."

Lose himself. God, how did he know that's what it felt like for me too? "I can't stay here if you won't let me in, Gil."

His eyes shut tight. "I know I know."

"You know, it's okay to loose yourself in another person. Doesn't mean you loose yourself completely, just that you get really close to that person. You were never lost, Gil. You were always Gil Grissom and I was always Sara Sidle. So we had a lot in common and really enjoyed each other's company. That was fine, it really was. In time, it would have expanded to include other people, but you never gave it that chance. You got scared and you jumped ship on me. Just turned your back and walked away."

"I _know." _He said, the exasperation evident in his voice. He was silent for a moment, and she let him be. _No use in deluging him with too much information. _Yes, there was still anger in her, yes she was still hurt by his pseudo-abandonment. But with understanding, maybe it would go away. They were getting to that understanding. He'd gotten scared. Well, what if he got scared again?

"Gil, are you still afraid?"

His head shot up. "What?"

"Are you still afraid of us?"

His eyes searched her, traveled over her face, searching for something. "I don't know."

She pursed her lips, feeling none too secure with that admission. "Are you gonna leave again? Are you gonna push me away again?"

"I don't want to."

"What are you gonna do to stop it from happening again?"

"I don't know, Sara!"

"You need to know." She knew she was being hard on him. But these kinds of answers didn't come with handing out roses. No, this kind of information needed pliers to wrench free from his hold. 

"What do you want from me?"

She smiled, a cold smile. "I want my soul, Gil. I want to know that I'm complete, either with you or without you."

He closed his eyes and sighed. She knew there was a battle going on in him. The tension in the air was too thick to be ignored now. But she needed to know. 

In an almost imperceptible move, he slid from the stool and took her hands in his. She met his gaze curiously. No particular expectations, just a curious sort of waiting. 

"I will give you back your soul, on one condition."

"What?"

"You give me back part of mine."

His blue eyes bore into her mercilessly, and she saw in his eyes the truth. He _had _left something behind for her. He had left with only part of his own soul. She stared into these eyes, these orbs of absolute truth which hid nothing from her now. She was caught, her mind had shut down as it contemplated all the meanings behind that one statement. _Give me back part of mine. _

"I can't do that." Her voice croaked. 

He blinked. "Then I guess we're stuck with each other."

She swallowed around a lump that had appeared in her throat. "I guess so." Her voice came out more throaty than she'd wanted. But then again, there was no more hiding one's feelings, right? His eyes had captured hers, and though hers burned with tears she could not look away, or blink, for fear he might disappear again. It was only when his face neared hers, and his image blurred as he got closer, that her eyelids finally fell over her eyes and a lone tear cascaded down her cheek. His lips on hers were soft and warm, and they brushed hers ever so gently, like the wings of a butterfly, finally freed of its cocoon. She sighed and returned the kiss, pressing her lips to his before opening her mouth to deepen it. He complied by wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her to stand with him, her body pressed to his, her hands in his hair, their tongues dancing together. 

Ten years of pent up sexual frustration Ten years of foreplay, dancing around the topic like two inexperienced virgins not quite knowing what to do. Ten years of pain and heartache, laughter and tears. The past three years of never quite knowing It all melted away in his arms, his lips on hers, his body against hers, promises now to be kept. She'd hold him to them. After all, they each had a part of each other's souls. What a bargaining chip! 

~*~

The End


End file.
